


all that is gone and all that's to come

by greenandgolden



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Marvel Comics - Freeform, Post-Break Up, advert! harry, artist! zayn, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-22 13:33:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14309751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenandgolden/pseuds/greenandgolden
Summary: Once upon a time, Zayn’s Instagram had been littered with photos of Harry. Some of them together, some of him alone. One of Harry sleeping in Zayn’s bed, his face a bit puffy and his hair a wild mess sprawled across Zayn’s pillowcase. Pictures of them with each other’s families from holidays and birthdays, everyone with smiles on their faces and their arms wrapped around each other. Most of those photos are saved on Harry’s phone, hidden away because he couldn’t bear to delete them but at the same time he can’t stomach looking at how happy they were together versus how miserable he is now that he’s alone.a post break up au





	all that is gone and all that's to come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alnima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnima/gifts).



> i hope i did this prompt justice! i rearranged it a little it to fit the story in my head. 
> 
> to the mods for this exchange, thank you. the world is a better place with more Zarry in it. 
> 
> to my beta, thanks for dealing with my mess x
> 
> side note: the “poem” Harry refers to is lyrics from zayn’s “golden,” not my own words. also, i don’t know any of these people i just like writing shit about them. 
> 
> title from Pink Floyd's "Eclipse"

_Fuck my life._

That’s what Harry thinks to himself as he makes his way back to his cubicle. He can’t remember the last time he had such a shitty day, complete with waking up late, not having time for a shower _or_ coffee, and then to top it all off, his idea for an advert for the new liquor company they’re representing was shot down less than ninety seconds into his pitch. His boss, a middle aged man with a beer belly and ruddy complexion, had literally waved his wrist in the air, like Harry was a gnat that he could swat away. It had taken everything in him not to tell _Gerald_ to go fuck himself.

“Didn’t go well?”

Harry stops as he’s passing Liam’s desk and scowls down at him, letting him know that _now is not the fucking time, Liam_ , before he continues on his way, dropping his proposal into the _to shred_ bin before he takes a seat.

It’s not the first time that Harry’s ideas have been brushed aside and it certainly won’t be the last. He’s the youngest person on their team and while he understands that everyone has seniority and more experience, he can’t help but feel like they’re passing him up simply because he was born two decades behind most of them. It’s frustrating and disheartening to say the least.

He has pretty thick skin when it comes to his career. He knows he’s never going to please everyone and taking criticism is something he’s had to get used to. He knows that all of his ideas aren’t going to be well received and that he has to be patient and take constructive criticism when it’s offered. But nothing about today, nothing about the last _month_ , has been constructive.

“Drinks tonight?” Liam asks, leaning against the divider that separates Harry’s desk from Patty, a nice woman about his mother’s age with three kids and her first grandchild on the way. He looks over at her empty chair forlornly, wishing she’d come back from lunch because she always seems to know when he’s having a shit day and a hug from her would be really great right about now.

“No,” Harry snorts, scooting his chair closer to his desk as he unlocks his desktop. “With the luck I’ve been having today, I’d probably get hit by a cab before I got to the bar.”

“Oh come on, it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve had an idea shot down.”

“Thanks,” Harry snaps.

“You know what I mean.” Liam makes to ruffle his hair but Harry’s quicker than him, six months under his belt of dodging Liam’s attempts at mussing him up. It’s all in good humor usually but he’s too pissy for jokes today. He wants to finish up and get the hell out of there. “Come on, H, you haven’t been out in forever. Just a beer, right after work, then you can go home. I promise.”

“Liam, please.” Harry rests his elbows on his desk and threads his fingers through his hair, tugging to relieve some of the pressure on his scalp. It eases the headache that he feels coming on and he sighs at the tiny bit of relief it gives him. “The last thing I want to do is be surrounded by people and pretend that I want to be there.”

“Fine.” The tone in Liam’s voice lets Harry know that it’s _not_ fine but he’s going to let it go because he doesn’t want to argue. “If you change your mind, let me know. Either way, I’ll be by in the morning to help with the move.”

The move. _Fuck_. Somewhere between being told that his idea was ‘ _elementary_ ’ and realizing that he’d forgotten his lunch at home, Harry also managed to forgot that it’s moving weekend. He lets out a pitiful whine and drops his head to his desk with a thud, resolutely ignoring Liam’s laughter as he walks back toward his own desk. He just wants this day to end.

\---

“Honey, I’m home!”

“In my room!” Harry shouts back, reaching for the tape gun. It only takes a few seconds for Niall to appear in his doorway, their apartment barely bigger than the shitty dorm Harry had lived in when he was a freshman at St. John’s. He looks up at his roommate slash best friend and smiles, finding relief just in a familiar, friendly face. “You look nice.” He nods at Niall’s suit, complete with a suede vest under the jacket and the black rimmed glasses that he knows Niall doesn’t need but he insists on wearing to work because they make him look smarter.

“Meeting with the big man,” Niall tells him, shrugging off his jacket and undoing the three buttons on his vest. “Got your text. How bad was it?”

“Oh you know, Gerry told me that I needed to think outside the box. Apparently my idea was elementary and, and I quote, ‘we’re not trying to appeal to kindergartner’s, Styles.’” 

Niall snorts at Harry’s attempt at a Brooklyn accent before sitting on the edge of the bed, his suit jacket neatly folded over his arm.

“Gerry’s a dick who’s had it out for you since they brought you on.”

“He’s had it out for me since his wife grabbed my ass at the Christmas party.”

“Well, she’s got good taste.” Niall winks at him and reaches over to ruffle his hair. Harry lets him, leaning into the touch as Niall scratches at his scalp. He doesn’t push him away like he did with Liam, needing the physical contact now that he’s home, in his own environment and comfortable clothes. He pouts when Niall pulls away and stands up. “You coming to Hagen’s?”

“No, I need to finish this,” Harry waves around at the mess in his room. He’s still got half a bookshelf to pack up and most of his closet and he wasn’t lying earlier when he told Liam he didn’t want to be around people. He knows Niall won’t push like Liam did, they get each other like that. They know when the other needs to be left alone and when they need to be coddled. It’s one of the reasons why their living situation works.

“’kay, I shouldn’t be home too late, I don’t want to be hungover when the movers come.”

“Shut my door if you bring someone home please,” Harry begs. There have been too many times he’s walked into the apartment only to find Niall in a compromising position and frankly, Harry’s seen his ass enough times to last a lifetime.

“Yeah, yeah, call if you need me.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more,” Niall calls out before he disappears into his bedroom to change, the door clicking shut behind him.

Harry tilts his neck back and forth, cracking the stiffness out, and goes back to work.

\---

The sun has long since set when Harry sits back on his heels and surveys his room, everything done but the closet and bed. He’s got the boxes of the things he’s keeping pushed against one wall, all labeled with his name so the movers know which room to put them in. There’s a smaller stack of boxes marked _donate_ , mostly old books from school and clothes he hasn’t worn in months that he knows Liam will help take to Goodwill because he’s the only one of their friends with a car. 

His stomach rumbles as he pushes himself to his feet and it’s then that he realizes he hasn’t eaten since Patty returned from her lunch with a sandwich and an iced tea for him, setting them on his desk with a squeeze to his shoulder before she went into a meeting of her own. Harry makes a mental note to bring her flowers to work on Monday.

He calls his mom while he heats up some leftover pasta, something red and a little spicy that Niall had brought home for them the night before. Anne answers almost immediately, her voice sending a wave of calmness over him that he swears he can feel down to his bones as he sidles up to a stool at the tiny table for two against the wall and pours himself a glass of wine in a Dixie cup.

“ _Do you want to talk about it?_ ” Anne asks, already knowing that his day was a complete disaster. Anytime he has a presentation, she texts him throughout the day wishing him luck and reminding him that he’s smart and talented and the agency is lucky to have him, whether the ad gets picked or not, so she already knows how it went, even if he hadn’t given her specifics. Harry knows it bothers her as much as it bothers him when people shut him down so telling her about Gerry’s comments is only going to upset her.

“Not really. Rather hear how your day was.”

He listens intently as Anne tells him about lunch with her girlfriends, how they surprised her with her favorite restaurant, one she hasn’t been to since before Robin passed. They ate and drank so many calories that she swears she’s going to have to go on one of his juice cleanses just to fit into her jeans again.

Harry laughs in all the right places, makes the appropriate sounds when he knows she needs to hear that he’s paying attention. It’s not that he’s not listening; it’s just that he can’t concentrate when he misses her that much.

He misses home, the quant two story colonial in the small town that he grew up in. He misses his mom, realizing that it’s been over two months since he’s made the six hour drive to visit and even longer since she has come to him. She loves it, the hustle and bustle of New York City, but she doesn’t come much anymore, not liking to drive that far by herself, not without Robin navigating the way. His heart aches for her, thinking of how lonely she must be.

“ _So listen._ ” Harry tunes back in when she clears her throat and he knows that whatever it is, it’s going to be big. Those two words are always followed by something important. He just hopes it’s not anything bad because he really doesn’t know how much more he can take today. “ _I was thinking…_ ” Harry sets his cup down, waiting for her to continue. “ _I’m going to sell the house_.”

Harry stays quiet, waiting for the punchline, because she has to be joking. She loves that house, he grew up in that house. She got married in the backyard and said goodbye to her husband in that house. She can’t sell it.

Of all the things that Harry had thought would come out of her mouth, that was not even in the top twenty. He stares at the wall above the sink, his fingers curling around his paper cup  as they listen to each other breathe, waiting to see who’s going to break the silence first. His mom must either get tired of waiting or she knows he’s in shock, because she starts rambling before he can even finish trying to process what she’s saying.

“ _I’m thinking of looking for somewhere closer to the city, you know? With Gemma getting engaged and you so far away_ -“

“Hold on,” Harry interrupts, holding up a hand as if she can actually see him.  “Engaged? What are you talking about?”

“ _What?_ ”

“What do you mean _what_? Since when is Gemma engaged?”

“ _Since…since last night. Didn’t she tell you? She said she was going to call._ ”

“Well she didn’t. What the fuck-“

“ _Harry_.”

“No, I’m allowed to be pissed off that my sister didn’t call me after she got _engaged_ , Mom.”

“ _I’m sorry sweetie, I’m sure she just forgot-“_

“Oh, that makes it better?” he snaps. His head is spinning, he feels like his brain’s going to short circuit. He might even throw up, he’s not sure yet. “She _forgot_ to tell her brother that she’s getting _married_?”

“ _Harry_ -“

“No,” he laughs sardonically, shaking his head. “I can’t…I literally cannot deal with this right now. This is too much.”

“ _I thought you liked Michael_!”

“Of course I like Michael,” Harry scoffs. “He’s great and he makes Gem happy and under normal circumstances, had she called me to tell me herself, I would be ecstatic.”

“ _Honey, you know your sister, she gets scatterbrained when she’s excited_.”

“I just…god, I can’t even process this.” Harry rubs a hand over his forehead, his mind running on overdrive. “The _house_?”

“ _Harry, I knows it’s a big change-_ “ Anne ignores the snort he lets out “ _but it’s too much for me here. The house is too big and it’s too quiet. You and Gemma hardly visit-“_

“I have to work!”

“ _And I get that, honey, I am_ not _blaming you. I’m trying to make you understand. What do I need with a four bedroom house?_ ”

“You love that house.”

“ _I do, I love this house, and I love the memories we made here but my husband’s gone and my children are grown. I don’t need all this space, it’s too much for just me. It’s going to be hard for all of us, sweetheart, I know that. We love this house and it’s one of the last tangible parts of Robin that we have left but…it hurts too much to be here without him_.”

Harry tries to sniffle quietly but knows he hasn’t succeeded when he hears his mom tut at him, telling him over and over that it’ll be okay and that she loves him, how great it’ll be now that they’ll be living closer to each other.

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a jerk. Today’s just been a lot.”

“ _I know, I’m sorry baby. I probably should have waited to tell you_.”

“No, no, it’s not your fault. I’m glad you did, I hate when we keep things from each other.”

“ _I haven’t put it on the market yet_ ,” Anne assures him, “ _so we have time. I’ll want you to come home, help me go through things, take stuff back with you that you want. Do you think you can get off of work for a few days? Maybe next month?”_

“I’ll make sure of it.”

“ _Thank you, Harry. Now about your sister-“_

“I’ll deal with Gemma, don’t worry.”

“ _Just don’t go crazy on her, okay? You know she loves you and she would never keep something like that from you, not on purpose.”_

“I know.”

“ _Okay. Are you going to be okay, lovie?_ ”

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“ _Good. Get some rest, you’ve got a big day tomorrow. Once you and Niall settle in I’ll come down. Maybe you can help me look for a new place?_ ”

“Of course. I’ve got to go though, okay? I love you.”

“ _I love you too, honey. Get some sleep_.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, tossing his phone onto the table and rubbing his hands over his face. He stays that way for a few minutes, elbows on the table and his face in his hands, letting himself absorb all of the new information.

His mom is selling their house. The house he grew up in, the house he thought she’d stay in forever, where she’d someday play with her grandkids in the backyard and live until the ripe old age of a hundred and thirty.

His sister’s getting married. _Married_. To a great guy that Harry genuinely adores, someone who Harry couldn’t have picked better for her himself. If he really thinks about it, the signs were all there. The last time they’d come to the city, they told him about a house they were interested in and the way that Michael looked at Gemma when she spoke should have been a dead giveaway.

He picks his phone back up and opens his messages, pulling up the last conversation he had with Gemma. He thinks about sending her a text, something snarky so she knows that she really fucked up.

Instead, he puts his phone back down on the table and carries his dishes to the garbage, dumping the food that he can’t seem to stomach anymore, tossing the disposable plate and glass in the trash as the rest of their dishware is already wrapped in newspaper and packed up. He decides to take the bottle of wine back to his room with him, sipping straight from the bottle as he looks around the almost empty apartment, most of their belongings either in storage or packed away and ready for transport.

He makes quick work of the closet, wanting to be done so he can crawl into bed and pass out so this absolute day from hell can be over. The wine warms him up as he sips at it, some old Spotify playlist he’d made a while ago shuffling quietly from where his phone is plugged in by the window as he neatly stacks his boots and sneakers in a plastic bin.

His favorite Shania Twain song is just coming to an end when he sees the dark pink sleeve of his favorite sweatshirt that he thought he’d lost sticking out from under his bed. He crawls across the floor and pulls it out, smiling as he hums and folds it up, running his fingers over the letters of St. John’s printed across the front.

He takes a look under his bed to make sure he hasn’t missed anything else. There’s a few dust bunnies, an empty chip bag and the black pen he’d chucked at the wall the last time he’d gotten stuck on a project, not bothering to fish it out from where it had bounced off of the wall and rolled under the bed. He’s just about to stand up when he sees it.

There’s what looks to be a notebook near the head of the bed, propped up between the wall and metal bedframe. He can’t quite reach it, even with his giraffe-like arms, and huffs as he pushes himself to his feet. He pulls the bed away from the wall, reaching down to grab it, his actions halting the second he gets a good look at it. He knows without picking it up who it belongs to. The artwork all over the cover is too familiar and a dead giveaway.

Harry swallows audibly and grabs for it, pinching it between his thumb and fingers, taking a seat on the mattress and staring down at it in his hands. He recognizes it, the white notebook that Zayn used to draw and write in whenever he had too many thoughts in his head. Something sticks in Harry’s throat as he traces his pointer finger over the rose Zayn had drawn on the front cover, an almost perfect replica of the one on Harry’s forearm. Most of Harry’s tattoos can be found etched somewhere on the front and back covers because Zayn always told him that whenever life got to be too much, when he needed to get outside of his head, thinking of Harry had helped.

Against his better judgment, Harry takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever he’s about to find. He knows that everything inside is a product of the inner workings of Zayn’s head, his thoughts and feelings that he hadn’t shared with anyone else, knowing that they’re not meant for him either. He picks up the discarded bottle of wine from its place on the floor and pulls his legs up, tucking them into a pretzel before giving in and turning the cover open.

\---

Niall tries to be quiet when he gets in. It’s after one and he knows Harry’s probably asleep, exhausted from work and packing, and he doesn’t want to disturb him. He slips his boots off and pushes them aside, setting his wallet and keys on the kitchen counter. He takes a look around, smiling to himself at all of the memories they’ve made in that tiny apartment. Study sessions, parties, catching each other going at it on the couch, Harry with Zayn and Niall with some random girl that he probably never brought around again.

He sees Harry’s light on under his door, frowning before he makes his way to the bathroom to piss and brush his teeth. There’s a small pile of dirty laundry in the corner and he strips his shirt and jeans off, leaving them for the morning, and walks over to Harry’s door, knocking quietly.

“Haz?” Niall opens the door a crack and peeks in.

Harry’s laying on his side, tucked under the heavy down comforter his mom had gifted him the previous Christmas since their apartment tended to get drafty during the colder months. The blanket swallows him up, the only thing visible being his cropped curls, much shorter after he had decided to cut them a few months ago, to “reinvent” himself. Niall knows it’s because Zayn adored Harry’s long hair and every time he looked in the mirror it was a constant reminder to him that Zayn wasn’t around.

There’s music playing quietly from Harry’s phone, a Pink Floyd song that immediately puts Niall on edge. He knows _The Dark Side of the Moon_ is Harry’s favorite album, and he also knows its Zayn’s as well. Remembers when Harry and Zayn had gotten matching tattoos and everyone had (goodheartedly) made fun of them for it, but neither of them had cared. They had just smiled at each other as they took their turns, playing with each other’s fingers and whispering sweet nothings as the tattoo artist worked. He also knows that Harry hasn’t listened to it in almost five months, not since _The Breakup_.

The wet sniffle coming from under the pile is the only acknowledgement that Niall gets. He pushes himself off of the doorframe and walks around the bed, gingerly taking a seat next to Harry’s curled up knees. Harry’s lips are stained red, likely from the two empty bottles of wine on the floor, and he’s staring at the window, eyes glossy and quietly sniffling. Next to one of the bottles is an open notebook. It only takes a second for Niall to recognize the messy handwriting.

“H.” Niall runs a hand through the front of Harry’s hair, pushing it off of his forehead.

“Found it under the bed.” Harry doesn’t lean into his touch this time, barely even feels it with how much is going on in his head.

“And you thought it would be a good idea to go through it?” Niall gently scolds. He’s never been a masochist so he doesn’t understand something like this, the need to do something when you know it’s only going to rub salt in your wounds.

“Didn’t really think, to be honest.” Harry pulls the covers up higher, letting his eyes drift shut. “Do you ever miss someone so much that it physically hurts?”

Niall doesn’t answer, he knows it’s a rhetorical question, Harry isn’t really looking for a response. He also knows that Niall’s never been in love, never had a connection with someone so strong that you can feel them when they’re not even in the room. Instead he looks down at the notebook, eyes scanning over the contents of the pages it’s been left open on.

 A drawing of Harry’s left hand. A quote from Rumi. Iron Man’s mask. Words written in what Niall assumes is Urdu. Various other doodles, a poem about love, clearly written about the boy lying next to him.

He can’t say he knows what Harry’s feeling because he’s never loved someone the way Harry loved Zayn. He never looked at someone like they were his world, never felt like he couldn’t go a single day without speaking to any of his ex-girlfriends. He certainly hasn’t found anyone he would talk about forever with. Not like Zayn and Harry.

Niall had been there for their entire relationship and frankly, he’d been just as surprised as Zayn when Harry ended it. They were the couple that everyone thought would withstand the test of time, always in each other’s pockets but never sick of each other like most people who spent nearly twenty-four hours a day together would be. In the two years that they had been a couple, Niall had never seen two people more compatible, more in tune with each other. To be honest, he still doesn’t quite understand why Harry broke it off.

“I miss him,” Harry whispers, his face scrunching up as if he’s in pain. “I miss the way he smells and how smooth his skin in. I miss how he’d kiss me every morning before my eyes even opened.”

“Oh Haz.” Niall climbs over him and scoots up to Harry’s back, wrapping an arm around his waist as he quietly cries. It’s not the first time they’ve been in this position, with Niall cuddled up to Harry, petting his fingers through his hair while Harry cried. Niall had slept in Harry’s room for almost two weeks after the breakup. “You should call him.”

“He won’t want to talk to me.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe he’s sitting at home right this second, missing you just as much.”

“He’s not,” Harry sniffs, “he’s at some party with Louis.”

“How…do you know that?”

Harry bites his bottom lip, laughing softly through his teeth. If it were anyone but Niall, he’d probably die of embarrassment at what he’s about to admit.

“I creeped on your Instagram.”

“Harry!” Niall cries, feigning outrage.  

“I’m not sorry,” Harry pouts, snuggling deeper into his pillow. “I missed his face.”

“You could use your own account to stalk him.”

“I wasn’t stalking, and no, I can’t. He’s set to private now, that’s why I logged into yours.”

“You need help,” Niall chuckles.

“I know.”

“But really,” Niall says seriously “I think you should call him. Even if it’s just to clear the air.”

“Pretty sure we cleared it when he told me to fuck off.”

“If his defense, _you_ broke up with _him_. He had a right to be upset.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Sorry not sorry.” Niall presses a kiss to Harry’s hair before rolling over onto his back and stretching his arms above his head. “Need me to sleep in here tonight?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” Niall swings his legs over the side of the bed and pushes to his feet, groaning as his tired muscles stretch out. “Liam’s coming at seven, movers at seven-thirty. I love you and I know you’re upset but you’re not getting out of this.”

“Yes, Niall.”

“Try and get some sleep.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The sound of Niall’s door clicking shut echoes in Harry’s ears as he sits in the quiet. He must have forgotten to turn the album on repeat because his phone is silent now, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

Against every bit of self-preservation that he has, Harry grabs his iPad from off of the floor and opens Instagram, still logged in under Niall’s username. Even if Zayn’s profile wasn’t set to private, he still wouldn’t have used his own account, afraid that he’d probably have done something stupid like accidentally like a photo.

He types ‘za’ into the search bar and watches as Zayn’s name pops up, hesitating only briefly before he presses on his name and waits for his profile to load.

Once upon a time, Zayn’s Instagram had been littered with photos of Harry. Some of them together, some of him alone. One of Harry sleeping in Zayn’s bed, his face a bit puffy and his hair a wild mess sprawled across Zayn’s pillowcase. Pictures of them with each other’s families from holidays and birthdays, everyone with smiles on their faces and their arms wrapped around each other. Most of those photos are saved on Harry’s phone, hidden away because he couldn’t bear to delete them but at the same time he can’t stomach looking at how happy they were together versus how miserable he is now that he’s alone.

It’s nothing but paintings and sketches now, poetry that Harry mostly doesn’t understand and a few that hit a little too close to home. There are a few selfies, one of Zayn smoking, his head titled to the ceiling, the filter set to _Moon_ which happens to be Harry’s favorite because he’s a black and white photo snob. It’s almost like the picture was posted just for him.

He’s never been a fan of smoking and what it does to one’s body but he had always thought that there was something so attractive about watching Zayn do it. The way the cigarette hung loosely from the corner of his mouth while he drew, the way the smoke seemed to relax Zayn’s entire body as it curled around him. He remembers being tucked into Zayn’s side outside of shitty dive bars when they were broke college kids and wanted a night out to blow off some steam. Zayn’s arm was always around his waist, a cigarette held between his middle and forefingers of his opposite hand. To this day, his heart still seizes up in his chest when he catches the scent of smoke.

There’s a picture of Louis that makes Harry smile, his stomach twisting because he misses him too. He was Zayn’s friend first, brought into their group after Harry and Zayn had started dating. He and Harry had hit it off, like most people do with Louis, he’s just that kind of guy. Smart, kind, funny as hell. But he’s also a fiercely loyal friend, which is why Harry no longer speaks to him. When Louis had heard about the breakup, about the circumstances behind it, he had called Harry and told him what a piece of shit he thought he was. That he didn’t deserve Zayn, that he was too good for Harry and he always thought so and that Harry had done Zayn a favor because now he could find someone worthy of his time.

Harry had hung up after one particularly cruel comment, falling face first onto his bed and sobbing for so long that he exhausted himself into sleep.

He’s never told anyone about that phone call, not even Niall. He didn’t want their friends to take sides, even though Louis had made it perfectly clear where he stood. Mostly Harry was embarrassed because some of the things that Louis had said weren’t completely untrue. The part about Harry being a spoiled brat, selfish and manipulative when things didn’t go his way, had stung pretty badly. Mostly because there were times when it was true, especially when it came to Zayn. All Harry had to do was pout his lips or bat his lashes and Zayn would be putty in his hands. He gets why Louis hates him. He hates himself a little bit too.

The screen goes dark after a while, Harry having closed his eyes after staring too long at a photo of Zayn smiling. He can see his gorgeous face as he forces himself to relax, willing his mind to let him sleep. The image of Zayn’s face floats around behind his eyelids like one of those black and white Jesus illusion photos that his bible-thumping grandmother used to have hanging in her house. The one where you stared at the dots in the middle of his face for thirty seconds and then when you closed your eyes or looked up at the ceiling or a blank wall, you could still see him. It had always creeped Harry out when he was younger, so much so that whenever they used to visit her before she passed away, he wouldn’t even look at the wall where it hung, always afraid that he’d find someone looking back at him.

Harry tucks the blankets up under his chin and settles in for the night, a small smile on his face as he falls asleep to the vision of Zayn smiling back at him, just wishing it was the real thing.

\---

“Never again.” Liam stands in the middle of Harry and Niall’s new living room, hands on his hips as if he’s completely exhausted himself. The movers had done most of the heavy lifting, a team of big burly guys with cargo shorts and back braces coming in and out until the last of their belongings were loaded into the truck. The heaviest thing he’d carried was a box of books from the living room to Harry’s bedroom but on the heels of a hangover, he’s about ready to collapse.

Their new place is only fifteen minutes from the old one but on a Saturday morning in the city, it had taken nearly an hour for them to get from Point A to Point B. They received more than a few annoyed glances from their new neighbors every time they loaded the elevator, making it nearly impossible for anyone to get on for a majority of the morning.

One couple from down the hall scowled in their direction as Harry held the elevator door while the movers unloaded the couch. Harry had shouted an apology as the man held the stairwell door open, blanching when the woman glared at him, a baby in her arms and a diaper bag over her shoulder before they all three disappeared behind the door. Harry vowed to go over in a day or two, after they hopefully stopped cursing his existence, to personally apologize, probably with a loaf of his famous banana bread and maybe a bottle of wine to boot.

“You barely even did anything,” Niall laughs, unwrapping their dishes and handing them to Harry to put away. “The most strenuous part of your day was walking two blocks down to get the pizza.”

Harry listens to his friends bicker back and forth, smiling to himself as he fills the cupboards of his new home.

The apartment that they’d rented for the last three years had technically been a one bedroom, Niall’s room having been illegally converted from a large closet when Harry had heard that he had needed a place to stay.

Now, with two proper bedrooms, a full bath and a kitchen that they can turn around in without banging into something, Harry isn’t sure what they’re going to do with all the space.

\---

It’s dark out and Liam has gone home when the kitchen and living room are finally unpacked and set up just the way they want. Niall’s gone out to grab sandwiches from a deli around the corner, some place with amazing Yelp reviews, while Harry hangs their shower curtain and unpacks his toiletries.

The sound of a familiar ringtone blaring from the kitchen counter has him skidding out of the bathroom on his socks, knocking his knee into the kitchen island hard enough to have him cursing under his breath  as he answers the phone.

“ _Thanks for calling me back, asshole_ ,” Gemma greets after Harry presses the phone to his ear. “ _I really needed to talk to you on Thursday and you never returned my call_.”

“You never called!” Harry objects, sitting on the arm of the couch and rubbing a hand over his bare knee.

“ _Um, yes I did, right after I got off the phone with Mom. It rang like ten times and I couldn’t even leave a message because your fucking voicemail is_ still _full_.”

“I never saw your call, I swear. And anyway, why didn’t you try calling back yesterday if it was so important?!”

“ _Because Mom told me not to_ ,” Gemma laughs. “ _She apologized for spilling the beans and said that you were already upset so that I should give you a day to cool down_.”

Harry puts the phone on speaker, positive that Gemma’s going to be wrong, and opens his call log. Sure enough, there it is, Gemma’s name in red indicating that he did indeed miss her phone call on Thursday night. He’s not sure how, his phone’s never more than a few feet away and the only calls he usually misses are the ones he doesn’t want to take. He would never purposely ignore her.

“Shit.”

“ _Told you. I mean, come on H, did you really think that I wouldn’t call you after something that big?”_

“No, of course not, but when Mom told me I was completely blindsided. I thought you forgot or something.”

“ _Don’t be stupid_ ,” Gemma scoffs. “ _You’re my best friend, you idiot.”_

“You’re being very mean,” Harry pouts.

“ _And you’re being dumb. Now that we’ve got that cleared up, isn’t there something you’d like to say to me?”_

Harry smiles as he scoots back to sit properly on the couch, pulling his legs up and leaning against the arm.

“Congratulations, you brat. I hope Mike knows what he’s getting himself into.”

“ _Rude!_ ” Gemma shouts and Harry laughs because he can hear Michael laughing in the background at his future wife’s expense. God, Harry misses them. “ _But thank you. We’re very happy.”_

“Good. Now, tell me how it happened. Was it incredibly romantic or did he completely fuck it up?”

Niall comes through the door just as Gemma starts her story, tossing the bag of food at Harry while he grabs them each a beer. Harry sets the phone on the coffee table so they can both listen, laughing around his pastrami on rye as Gemma tells them that Michael almost dropped the ring down a drainage grate on the Brooklyn Bridge in his haste to get it out of his pocket. It’s a terribly sweet story and for a brief moment, Harry’s mind wanders to Zayn. To the notebook safely tucked inside one of the boxes in his room, a specific entry standing out in his mind. The last one Zayn had written before he left.

_the choices we make change the path that we take,_

_but I know that somewhere out there there’s a path that we chose,_

_there’s a life that we share, there’s a love and it grows_

\---

“ _You gonna call that guy from last night?”_

“Dunno,” Zayn yawns, pulling the refrigerator door open. He hasn’t eaten more than a granola bar all day, having been too hungover from bar hopping with Louis the night before to get out of bed before three in the afternoon to piss before going right back under the covers. Now that his body’s had enough time to recoup, he should probably eat something.

“ _You should_ ,” Louis tells him. “ _It’s about time you get back out there_.”

“Yeah.”

Louis’ been bugging Zayn for months to start dating again, to forget Harry, to _move the fuck on already_. He’d even tried getting Zayn to join Tinder, which was a hard no on Zayn’s part. If he wanted to go on a date or just find someone to fuck around with, he didn’t need an app. He’s met plenty of interested people all on his own, some at work, some from their nights out, and he knows he could have them if he just said the word. The night before a guy that had claimed to be an underwear model had him pressed up against the bar, whispering in his ear all of the things he’d love to do to Zayn. Zayn had humored him enough to allow the stranger to put his name in his phone but that was as far as he’d let it go. The farthest he’s gone with anyone since Harry was a drunken kiss, he certainly wasn’t about to fuck a stranger after ten minutes of talking.

“ _I’m serious, Zed. He was hot and more than willing. You haven’t been single in over two years, it’s time to take advantage of that_.”

“Says the guy who’s in a committed relationship and currently shopping for rings.”

“ _Yeah but look at where we were last year. El wanted nothing to do with me and I fucked around as much as I wanted_.”

“And now you’re happily back together and planning on getting married. Not exactly the same situation.”

Louis drops it after that, knowing that Zayn’s a lost cause for the night. On some level Zayn gets where Louis’ coming from. The longer he waits to get back out there, the harder it’s going to be. But the thought of going on dates and having to get to know someone new on an intimate level isn’t the least bit intriguing.

“ _Want me to come over? I’ll bring the whiskey and we can binge on Netflix,”_ Louis singsongs.

“As appealing as that sounds, I’m going to pass. I don’t intend on leaving my bed for the next thirty-six hours and after last night, I definitely don’t need more alcohol.”

“ _Pussy_.”

“Love you too,” Zayn laughs, ignoring Louis as he calls him as asshole. A knock on the door has him looking over his shoulder, brows furrowed as he stares at the wood as if it’s going to tell him who’s on the other side. “Is that you?”

“ _Is what me?_ ”

“Never mind,” Zayn murmurs as he walks toward the door. He glances at the clock on the microwave and sees that it’s just after midnight, which only confuses Zayn more. He doesn’t get many unwanted visitors, certainly not this late, and if it’s not Louis, he has no idea who it could be.

“ _What’s going on? Why are you whispering?_ ”

“Someone’s at the door.”

“ _At midnight?_ ”

Another knock sounds, this time a little harder. Louis’ still talking in his ear but Zayn’s not paying attention as he presses the hand not holding his phone against the door and leans in, closing his left eye as he looks out the peephole with his right. He doesn’t recognize the person in the hallway, some guy with brown hair that’s staring at the floor so Zayn can’t get a good look at his face.

“ _Who is it?_ ”

“Don’t know,” Zayn whispers, shifting the phone to his other ear as he reaches for the dead bolt. “Probably just has the wrong apartment number. I’ll call you back-“

“ _What? No! What if it’s an ax murderer or something?”_

“There’re security cameras in the hall, they’ll catch the guy.”

“ _You’re not funny.”_

Zayn laughs as he unlocks the door, turning the knob and pulling it open as Louis demands to stay on the line so he can call 911 if he hears a struggle.

Zayn has approximately three seconds to try and process what’s happening before he’s being shouldered out of the way, his body instantly tensing at the contact. He doesn’t even try to stop him, too caught off guard to move as Harry makes his way inside.

“ _Zayn? Zayn? ZAYN?!”_

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he mutters, lowering the phone down to his side.

When he turns around after closing the door, he watches Harry walk back and forth in a frenzy, hands in his too short hair, a look Zayn never thought he’d see on him,  muttering under his breath. If Zayn didn’t know Harry as well as he does, he’d think he was strung out on something with the way his hands won’t stop moving and his eyes dart every which way as his boots clack against the hardwood.

His first instinct is to reach out, to try to calm him, to figure out what’s wrong and try to make it better. Zayn’s fingers twitch at his sides, like they’re ready to move whenever his mind tells them to, and it pisses him off. That his body still has this reaction to Harry after months without any contact.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, letting his anger get the best of him. The look on Harry’s face almost makes him feel bad but then he remembers the fight they had before Harry told him to leave and he’s suddenly not worried about Harry’s feelings anymore, especially when Harry hadn’t cared about Zayn’s when he kicked him out.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I think you said all you needed to say the last time we spoke. You know, when you told me I was a selfish asshole and to get out. Remember that? I can give you a play by play if it’s a little hazy.”

“Zayn, I-“

“This isn’t fair,” Zayn interrupts. “You showing up in the middle of the night after months of silence, expecting me to be cordial with you-“

“I just want you to listen-“

“There’s nothing to say!” Zayn shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. It surprises Harry, Zayn can tell by the way his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, because Zayn has always been the rational one, the one least likely to lose his temper. But he’s had a lot of sleepless nights to think about what he’d say to Harry if they ever bumped into each other and now that the opportunity is presenting itself, he’s poised for a fight. “You wanted this over and it is, it has been, for quite some time. I’m not interested in having a friendly conversation with you about it so if you could just go-“

“No,” Harry snaps back, his own temper rising as Zayn gets defensive. “I’m not leaving until you listen to what I have to say.”

“Why should I, huh? Tell me why you deserve even a second of my time, Harry, because for the life of me, I can’t think of a single reason.”

“Because,” Harry starts, not bothering to hide his emotions when his voice cracks. He’s going to cry any second and he doesn’t care, he just needs to get it out. “Because I love you. I love you, and I made a mistake.”

Zayn feels all of the air leave his body in one breath, Harry’s statement so unexpected.

“Harry, please-“

“I found your journal.”

“My…what?”

“Your journal,” Harry repeats, pushing the hair out of his eyes. They’re damp with tears and he feels one slide free, tracking down his cheek before he swipes it away. “The white notebook that you used to draw all over. I found it last night while I was packing, it was under the bed and-“

“And you read it.” It’s not a question, Zayn knows Harry as well as he knows himself. He knows that there’s no way Harry’s curiosity didn’t get the best of him.  

“Yes.”

“Even though you knew I wouldn’t want you to. Even though when we were together and you always tried to take a peek, I moved it away. Those are my personal thoughts and feelings Harry, you had no right. If I had wanted you to see them, I would have showed you a long time ago.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Zayn snarls. He doesn’t even remember specifics about what he’d written in it but he’s sure it’s not something he wanted Harry to see. “So what, you read a couple poems and see a couple drawings of yourself and suddenly I’m good enough?”

“Zayn-“

“I’m not doing this,” Zayn breaks, bringing his hands up to his face. His scruff is rough against his palms as he rubs them over his face in frustration. “I can’t do this, Harry. You were right, you know? I didn’t see it then but in hindsight, I get it now. We were in two different places in our lives-“

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Zayn argues. “You said so yourself-“

“And I’m trying to tell you I was wrong!” Harry shouts. “I’ve spent the last four months thinking about what a huge fucking mistake I made because I miss you, all the time. I miss you when I wake up and when I fall asleep and every second in between. Every time something happens, good or bad or inconsequential, you’re the first person I want to tell. Christ, I found out last night that my mom’s selling the house and Gemma’s getting married and you’re the first person that came to mind. There hasn’t been a single day that’s gone by that I haven’t picked up my phone to call you but I have to stop myself every time because I know I don’t deserve you. I was an asshole, I was selfish and upset and I took it out on you because you were there. I didn’t even know what I was saying, I just kept spewing whatever came to mind because I was hurting and I needed someone to take my anger out on. I never meant-“ Harry chokes, shaking his head as he looks down at the floor. “I never meant for that to happen. I never meant to break us.”

Zayn watches Harry wipe his eyes with the wrists of his sleeves, trying to comprehend what Harry’s saying but he can’t.

“You made me feel like all of this was my fault,” Zayn tells him when Harry doesn’t say anything more. He’s not sure if he’s done yet but he clearly needs a minute to get himself together so Zayn uses the opportunity to speak for himself. “You punished me for loving my job-“

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do. You started a fight because I had to cancel our date.”

“I know.”

“I got invited to dinner with _Stan fucking Lee_ -“

“I know.”

“-and you made it out like I was choosing my job over our relationship.”

“I know!” Harry screams. “I fucking know, Zayn, I know what an asshole I was, okay? I was already upset and all I wanted was to be with you and you got called away and I know it’s not your fault and that it was an incredible opportunity but I just felt like everyone was pushing me aside. My boss hates me and everything I do and I just wanted to be with you and then you got invited to dinner with these incredible people and you were so happy and you love your job so much and I was jealous.”

“You were happy for me,” Zayn interjects. “You told me when I got the promotion to cover artist that you were proud of me. You cried and then threw me a party.”

“Of course I was proud!” Harry cries. “You’re so fucking talented and smart and you deserve everything and I’m so happy you got it, I really am. I just…I hit a wall and it was too much. You being happy and me being miserable just, something inside me snapped.”

“You can’t do that, Harry. I didn’t deserve to get screamed at and told to get out just because you were having a bad day.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, Zayn.”

“So why now?” Zayn asks, crossing his arms for a lack of anything better to do. “Why are you here now? Why didn’t you come to me the next day and explain everything? Or the next week or month. Why make us both suffer this long?”

“I was scared,” Harry shrugs, sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve, not caring how gross he looks. “I thought you’d hate me and I couldn’t deal with that.”

“And you think I don’t now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how you feel about me now but I had to try. I read your journal and it broke my fucking heart, and all I could think was _why the fuck are we not together anymore_? And I know it’s not fair of me to show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night but I literally could not think of anything other than getting to you and telling you all of this. Even if I can’t have you back, you needed to know. I threw away everything that we built together because my feelings were hurt and it wasn’t your fault. I know you weren’t choosing your job over me. I know what you do is important and that you love it and I would never want you to do anything else. I can’t apologize enough, Zayn. I hurt us both and I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” Zayn admits, rubbing at his eyes. He feels the telltale burn of tears, a mix of exhaustion and elation because he couldn’t have ever imagined Harry coming here to tell him any of this. But it still hurts, the memory of that night.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Harry shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I’ll completely understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore. I hope that’s not the case but.” He shrugs again, unsure of himself. He wants to beg for Zayn’s forgiveness but he knows that’s not fair. If Zayn wants to be with him again, he doesn’t want it to be out of guilt.

“I love my job.” Harry looks up as Zayn starts to speak, wanting to give him his undivided attention. “I love what I do, I love who I work with. Marvel’s a fucking dream for me, Harry. I get to draw super heroes every day and collaborate with some of the most talented artists in the industry. I’m happy. I worked hard to get where I am and I’m never going to apologize for that.” Harry nods along, because he wholeheartedly agrees. “I’m sorry you’re not happy where you are, you know I only want the best for you.”

“I know.”

“But you can’t take your problems out on me. If it’s my fault, if I’m being a dick or I fuck something up, then fine. Scream, yell, call me names, whatever, but don’t blame me for things that I have nothing to do with. I would never do that to you and it’s not fair.”

“I know. I won’t.”

“And if you’re that unhappy with your job then you need to get out. There are plenty of advertising firms in the city, you could go anywhere. You’re too smart and too talented to stay there and be miserable.”

Harry keeps nodding, knowing that Zayn’s right. He’s not happy where he’s at but he didn’t want to deal with having to look for another job and start from the bottom all over again. But now, after facing all of this again and realizing that he let his career get the best of his emotions, he knows he needs to change. He needs to find a place where he can be happy and feel valued and like he’s a part of a team.

“I love you too, just so we’re clear.” Harry feels his chest tighten at the words, a sob catching in his throat as he meets Zayn’s gaze. He never thought he’d hear Zayn say it again. “I love you and I miss you, too, every day. The past few months have been hell without you and I’d rather not go through that again.”

“Me either,” Harry whispers, wiping his tears with the pads of his fingers. “So.” Harry twists his fingers together, spinning the ruby red ring around and around. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know about you,” Zayn tells him, stretching his arms above his head. Harry gulps as Zayn’s sweatpants dip lower over his hipbones, the dark trail of hair leading down so familiar that Harry’s heart throbs just thinking about touching him. “But I’m going to bed. It’s been a long fucking day and I can’t process anything else tonight.”

“Oh,” Harry pouts, his disappointment evident as he watches Zayn walk in the direction of his bedroom, stopping in the hallway with his fingers on the light switch. There’s a hint of a smirk on Zayn’s lips as he looks at Harry over his shoulder, his pretty eyes shining with something that looks a lot like happiness. Harry watches him extend his hand back and wiggle his fingers invitingly, his smile widening the longer he looks at Harry.

“You coming?”

Harry nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to follow.

 

 

 

 

 

_one year later…_

“I specifically remember saying that I would never do this again,” Liam huffs as he walks through the front door of Harry and Zayn’s new apartment. “Literally a year ago, almost to the day.”

“And yet here you are,” Harry coos, pinching Liam’s cheek as he passes him on his way to the bedroom. He can hear Niall and Zayn cursing each other out and walks into the bedroom with a wide smile on his face, seeing his best friend and fiancé putting together the bed frame.

“Not there, you idiot!” Zayn laughs, swatting Niall’s hand away when he puts a screw in the wrong place. “Look at the fucking picture.”

“We wouldn’t need a fucking picture if your boyfriend had paid the delivery guys to do this for us.”

“ _Fiancé_ ,” Harry corrects, walking over to the closet. He sets a box labeled _clothes_ just outside the sliding doors and walks over to them, leaning down to kiss Zayn as he tilts his face up. “And I’m not going to waste money when I have you two capable of doing it for free.”

“We wouldn’t be in this predicament if you didn’t insist on moving out of our apartment,” Niall grumbles, leaning away from Harry’s teasing hands. “Four years together and you’re ditching me for this guy,” he thumbs at Zayn.

“I have needs that you refuse to fulfill,” Harry jokes, strutting out of the room to the sound of Zayn whistling after him and Niall gagging.

\---

Later, after Harry has seen Liam and Niall to the door and showered off the sweat and dirt from the day, he climbs into their brand new king sized bed and rests his head on the pillow next to Zayn’s side, careful not to bump or jostle him as he works.

They don’t speak for a few minutes, Zayn concentrating on the new cover of _Venom_ that he’s been assigned to and Harry watching the way his glasses hang low on the slope of his nose. He loves Zayn’s face when he’s working. He loves Zayn’s face all the time, but especially when he draws. The pinch in his brow when something isn’t right, the almost invisible quirk of his lips when he gets it just the way he wants.

“Tired?” Zayn asks, hearing Harry trying to suppress his yawn.

“Very.” Harry wiggles down until he’s flat on his side, sighing in contentment as the new sheets slip soft and cool over his skin. They don’t need a bed that big, as they’re prone to tangling themselves together in their sleep, but they’d gotten a good deal at the furniture store and they had the room to splurge. “If I never have to move again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Not for a while,” Zayn hums, shading in a bit of webbing around Venom’s hand. “A house would be nice in a few years, something away from the chaos of the city.”

“You getting old on me, Malik?”

“Nah, just…thinking of the future.”

“What about it?” Harry asks, tilting his head up to look at him. He looks so beautiful like this, shirtless with just the light from the bedside table behind him, his dark rimmed glasses and day old scruff. If Harry wasn’t so exhausted, he’d lean up and lick just under his jaw, he looks so delicious.

“Don’t know,” Zayn shrugs, closing his sketchpad and tossing it on the table along with his glasses. Harry watches in appreciation as Zayn leans over to turn off the lamp, his smooth, inked skin stretching over his ribcage with the effort. He patiently waits until Zayn settles in beside him, extending his left arm out so Harry can tuck himself into his side. Harry hooks his ankle around Zayn’s and presses his face against Zayn’s neck, purring in contentment.

“Tell me about our future.”

“I’m not really sure.” Zayn lifts his hand and settles it in Harry’s hair, playing with the ends that have grown out near to his shoulders. “I figure a couple more years in the city and then maybe we’ll find somewhere a little further out. Not too far that our commute would be terrible but enough that we can sleep with the windows open without hearing horns blaring or people shouting.”

“You like the noise,” Harry points out.

“I do,” Zayn agrees, massaging Harry’s scalp. “But I think for a family it’d be better somewhere a little quieter.”

“Family, huh?”

“You know I want a family, you little shit, stop fishing.”

“I’m not!” Harry laughs, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s neck. “I love it when you talk about having a family. Tell me more.”

“I think a couple of kids would be good. Two for sure, maybe three. A dog for them to play in the backyard with and a cat who sits on the window sill and watches. A two car garage because we’ll have to buy cars to cart them back and forth to school and soccer practice.”

“Or dance lessons.”

“Or dance lessons,” Zayn agrees. “We’ll have backyard barbeques with our neighbors and your mom will come over every week because she can’t stay away from her grandbabies.”

“That sounds about right,” Harry laughs, his smile so huge that his cheeks ache. “Is it bad that I can’t wait for all of that?”

“No.” Zayn picks up the hand Harry has laying on his chest and fingers at the ring he’d given Harry seven months after their reconciliation. “It’s not bad at all, but we’ve got time.” He turns his head to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead, brushing away the stray hairs that tickle his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, closing his eyes and thinking of how amazing his life is going to be, with Zayn by his side. “All the time in the world.”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt "i found your box of letters underneath my bed last night and because i'm a nosey motherfucker i decided to read them and it turns out they were all addressed to me and the last one was dated the day you moved out and i'm not quite sure why i thought this would be a good idea but here i am, standing on your doorstep, wondering why the fuck we're not together anymore." 
> 
> Let me know know you think! <3 
> 
> i changed letters to journal, i hope that's okay. it felt more "zayn" to me


End file.
